


Prayers and Dreams

by fawatson



Category: The Last of the Wine - Mary Renault
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 07:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5531666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexias' dreams are troubled and Thalia prays for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prayers and Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [havisham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/gifts).



> **Request:** Like I described in my sign-up, I would really love a ketchup-heavy PWP for Alexias and Lysis. I have some feelings about the subject -- mostly, that Alexias is deeply in love with Lysis, and would probably welcome a more physical relationship. Although Lysis, like a lot of Renaultian lovers, is much more - er, restrained about his feelings. Otherwise, I’d love fic of Alexias building a life with Thalia, after Lysis’ death. I imagine that Lysis would still be very much a part of their lives, going on, and I would love to read something about Alexias dealing with his grief. (Does he feel like a failure, not having died for his lover, like his uncle Alexias did?) Make it hurt. 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit by them. 
> 
> **Author’s Notes:** In Greek mythology, Helios drove the chariot of the sun across the sky. Hekate was, amongst other things, in ancient Athens, honoured as Goddess of the Household, and also a protector in childbirth. Tantalus was famous for his eternal punishment in Tartarus. Aphrodite was Goddess of Love; Eros, her son, was also God of Love, but in its more physical manifestation. Leto was one of Zeus’ lovers; she gave birth to Apollo (God of the Sun, amidst other things) and Artemis, who was the Goddess of the Hunt, but also of Childbirth. Hypnos (God of Sleep) was the son of Nyx (Goddess of Night) and one of his sons was Phantasos (God of Dreams as illusions). True dreams were sent through gates of horn and false through gates of ivory. Achilles was the hero in the Trojan War; he and Patroclus were lovers.

Alexias woke, yet again, to find the covers soiled. No doubt Thalia would wash them again (or ensure their one house slave washed them). She would not reproach him, undoubtedly believing his night-time release was because he was avoiding her bed while she was so heavily pregnant. He knew different, but would never tell her. He felt sufficient guilt as it was, at creating additional work for her when she was burdened with the coming heir (he was sure it would be a boy this time) and had so little help around the house. Would that he could give her more. But their straightened circumstances did not permit it; and he knew she understood. That look of anxiety in her eyes when Lysis died, her obvious relief when he said he would marry her: yes, Thalia understood the situation and, good natured as she was, would not complain about lack of help, even if he soiled the bed covers several times a day. But _he_ knew housework was not the real issue. And sensible and thrifty wife though she might be, his nightly problems were not something that, as a woman, Thalia would be able to understand. 

Alexias’ sense of embarrassment was pervasive. When Helios shone, he maintained control. He remembered and honoured Lysis, of course; but it had been several years since he died, and with time had come perspective and the ability to talk about his friend, without breaking down, to those who also remembered him. He pushed down those nagging feelings of failure. He _ought_ to have saved Lysis, or, if that had not been possible, to have died with him. That was what eromenos and eraste did. No member of the Theban Band would have survived when his partner did not. Surely an Athenian could do no less? Yet _he_ had. He had pushed ahead of Lysis in battle, allowed them to be separated, and that decision had left Lysis’ back uncovered. That Alexias had survived was a lingering shame. That others did not blame him for not dying, instead lauded him like a hero as one of the saviours of Athens, provided cold comfort. Had not Sokrates maintained the truly honourable man made his choices based on his own reasoning of right from wrong, not based on how others perceived his actions? 

How could it be right to dream of Lysis at night? Not merely to dream but to _act_ on those dreams. In his sleep, he was with Lysis again, reliving past events: an afternoon picnic one bright summer’s day at Lysis’ farm; the warrior’s life they had enjoyed during the winter in Phyle (those winter nights when they had slept close for affection as well as warmth); years ago, when he first started patrol, sharing a cloak with Lysis on campaign in the hills during the war with Sparta; that evening when first they truly consummated their love for one another (complete with the sound of frogs croaking). That last, in particular, recurred every few days and left him aching with sorrow each time he woke, his feelings of loss as acute as if Lysis had died yesterday. 

But not only memories surfaced. In his mind Alexias experienced things he would swear never happened in real life, things which Lysis would never have permitted when they were together. The other night he had imagined Lysis bending him over, enjoying his body as Alexias enjoyed Thalia’s. Just this morning he woke dreaming of release in Lysis’ own mouth. What transgression led to this: the highest pleasure of the body, in partnership with torture of the mind? Who had cast him as Tantalus? Why the ivory gate? Were the gods themselves mocking Alexias – or worse, mocking Lysis in death? Which god’s command had been flouted so that he was pursued in this way? 

As he had done yesterday – as he did daily – Alexias’ first task of the day was to sacrifice to the gods. To Hekate, of course, for the safety of the household to protect Thalia; but to also Phantasos. Precisely how he had angered him, Alexios could not imagine; but appeasement was clearly called for.

* * * * * * * 

Thalia hummed as she worked. Alexias was out – no doubt gone to the agora to meet with that Plato and other friends. Men had their own interests, which was just as well, as it gave womenfolk the space and time to get things done. Doris had taken young Sophia off to play, so the house was quiet. She was supposed to be resting. Every day she was supposed to rest; and the others cleared out so nothing would disturb her. It was impossible for little Sophia to understand she must not disturb her mother; and at only two, she had no concept of time and got distressed if she remained at home and could not be with mother. So Doris took her when she went with the other slaves to the river with the daily washing. It gave Doris some company while she completed a heavy household chore, and Sophia the chance to meet other children to play with. It was also intended to give Thalia the peace and quiet she needed to sleep. Except, Thalia did not rest.

Instead, as soon as the last person was down the road out of sight, Thalia had passed through the house and out to the courtyard. It was the part of home she most loved, designed as it was to capture the afternoon sun. In the centre of the courtyard was a small pond adorned with a little statue to Artemis, her bow drawn. Against the east courtyard wall stood Thalia’s loom. A set of levers allowed her to adjust a small canopy to shelter her head from Apollo’s full strength; and she ensured the chair was positioned just right before she sat down. 

Thalia wove swiftly and skilfully, purposefully. She was known, amongst the wives of their circle, as the best weaver. Alexias took her skill for granted, as indeed he should. (It was a woman’s accomplishment, after all. He simply understood he had suitable cloth for a new tunic when one was needed, so he would never feel shame at having ragged clothes when he met with his friends.) He left the pattern of her weaving to her.

Last week, Doris had taken a length of cloth she had completed from the loom. Alexias had had several restless nights; and the new cover was needed for his bed. The warp had then been set for a new weaving, which was taking shape nicely. Hopefully this afternoon’s weaving would finish it. Alexias had looked haggard this morning; his disturbed nights continued and it would be good to give him another new cover tonight. Thalia was pleased with how the central panel had turned out: Achilles and Patroclus, the latter clasped in the former’s arms, as he lay wounded from battle. Traditionally, such a heroic centrepiece would be bordered by martial images; but Thalia preferred images which celebrated life – as a counter to the harrowing death scene. Thus, Aphrodite watched from the top, smiling her approval at the young men’s devotion to each other. Around the sides other gods and goddesses celebrated love in all its permutations. (It had been a tricky bit of weaving to get Zeus and Leto just right – another without her skill would have not managed it – but Thalia fancied she had done a good enough job that the glint in Zeus’ eyes would be evident to any who looked at the cloth.) Now she worked on the final section: Eros with his little bow began to dance along the bottom border. Thalia smiled and sang. Alexias had his own ways of honouring the gods; this was her prayer.

* * * * * * * 

Nyx presided over that night’s gathering, in her gentler persona, greeting Hypnos warmly when he arrived. As each arrived at her door, bearing gifts, she honoured Artemis, Aphrodite and Eros.

And, in her dreams, Thalia cooed over the cradle of her newborn baby boy. In his dreams, Alexias was held in Lysis’ arms as he convulsed in orgasm. And in Elysium, Lysis dreamed he and his lover fought together again, back to back, at Phyle.


End file.
